


headlong might save a life

by LightDescending



Series: headlong might save a life [1]
Category: Terminator (Movies), Terminator - All Media Types, Terminator: Dark Fate
Genre: (It's very brief) - Freeform, ASMR, Affection, Angst, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Deviates From Canon, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hair Braiding, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Love Languages, Massage, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, Movie: Terminator: Dark Fate, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDescending/pseuds/LightDescending
Summary: There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.Like, telling someone you love them…- Mary Oliver, “Moments”There are many ways to say "I love you". This set of connected vignettes covers a few.
Relationships: Grace Harper/Dani Ramos, Sarah Connor & Dani Ramos, Sarah Connor & Grace Harper
Series: headlong might save a life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705918
Comments: 120
Kudos: 226





	1. Words of Affirmation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amlev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amlev/gifts), [starfoozle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfoozle/gifts).



> I have loosely planned out what this work will entail - there's less a plot here as a connected series of vignettes of 2000 words per chapter or less. The world feels very painful and scary to me right now, and in a strange way this film has been a very useful story to bounce myself off of through all of that. 
> 
> This is the result of me needing to take a break from other writing and from stuff going on in life: Five Love Languages fic, featuring Grace and Dani. I want to create some softness for them. Tags may be updated as I write additional content, but my biggest hope is that this is enjoyable and comforting to read.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words of affirmation:  
> Expressing love through spoken affection, praise or appreciation.
> 
> Encouragement, support, tenderness, and communication.

There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.  
Like, telling someone you love them…

\- from Mary Oliver _, Moments_

* * *

**2033**

Grace tucks and rolls, using the momentum to wrench herself into a sprint before she’s even fully upright again – she can’t afford not to, in this confined of a space. Behind her, puffs of dust from the wall when shots start to impact– she can hear shouts all around her, the rest of the squadron scattering like shrapnel as the air is filled with ragged noise.

A whining howl of metal-against-concrete in front of her; Grace strafes, pivots, fires three times with her glock into the entity that tried to spring at her from behind a crumbling section of the wall. She waits the split-second necessary to watch the machine start to topple in a heap of wires and joints before continuing on, yanking a smoke grenade free from her belt as she goes. She pulls the pin with her teeth. Tosses it ahead and left, hearing it clink, _BANG-pshhhhhhhhhhhh_ as choking clouds start to billow up and provide cover.

An approving yell rises from behind her as the rest of her company is able to advance, though she can’t afford to get a sense yet of how many of them still keep pace. Still – although there’s a dismal red glow visible through the smoke as guiding lasers try to seek out their forms, she’s bought them all a few precious milliseconds. Just the barricade ahead of her in the tunnel, and she’ll be through the course.

The constructed wall is slick with condensed moisture and treacherous with half-broken stones, but Grace is the first to scramble up and over the top, squeezing her frame through the gap in the concrete. The slabs have been arranged to mimic a collapsed ceiling. Once she’s safely installed, she can survey the area behind her – neon paint cartridges whiz through the air, spat in rounds from automated turrets. Where they impacted the paint glows, illuminated by the black-light mounted along the top of the tunnel. It’s splattered across training gear and Machine simulacra and the terrain alike.

Only a few bodies litter the ground, some dragging themselves forward or tugged along by partners. A hit means you act as though the limb is gone. Head or chest, you’re dead. If it weren’t for the grim intensity of their faces, the hollow anger in their eyes ( _every person lost is to be the subject of mourning_ , the Commander has said, _and we aim for no casualties_ ), this might be a game. As Grace watches, someone sustains a round of paint to the helmet and collapses in place, cursing under his breath.

Yet as person after person clasps Grace’s outstretched hand, flings themselves up and over to join her on the other side, she feels more than just adrenaline shaking her frame and pinching at the corners of her eyes and her fingertips; more than the urgency of _move-move-move_. Because as she dove in amongst the piled rubble, she saw the Commander standing at the platform. That means the Commander is seeing _her._ It brings awareness of every error, every near miss. It exhilarates and terrifies.

In the aftermath, Grace stands as tall as she can – not bad, considering that even at 23 she towers above some of the men – while Commander Ramos walks in front of them down the line. The Commander nods towards them all.

“Nicely done,” she says in her clear voice, and Grace thinks it sounds like how honey used to taste.

“We lost five,” growls one man despondently, “not good enough.”

“And yet last week we lost nine in this same simulation,” the Commander counters, placing a hand on his shoulder that causes him to look up and meet her gaze. “Which means we are getting better.”

She dismisses them all, tells them to go have a meal before they return to physical training. Grace remembers idle daydreams of being a knight – from the time before, ones that returned even more intensely under Dani’s care, once she internalized that she was safe. Maybe that’s why Grace lingers, a little longer than she’s supposed to. A crew begins to reset the course for the next round of soldiers. She looks at the Commander and reminds herself that this is another way to pledge fealty, in a way – to be clever, and strong, and quick, and to be the hand that pulls the others up.

The Commander looks over her shoulder. Meets Grace’s eyes, and begins to advance towards her.

Since 0600 hours this morning, Grace has run her routines, the drills, pushed until her breath came ragged and her thoughts calmed and she was in her body completely. And yet when Dani starts walking her way, Grace feels _self-conscious_ , more acutely than a stitch in her side. Grace straightens her back even more, squares her shoulders.

“Corporal Harper.” Dani nods. “I should commend you.”

“Commander,” Grace is able to stammer out after her salute, although it takes a beat. “I… thank you.”

The pleased look on Dani’s face brightens into a full smile, one that Grace feels behind her breastbone. Even though her eyes remain a little sad.

“You’re learning. Quickly. And you never leave anyone behind, if you can help it. That is good. Right.” 

“It’s what you taught us. That we’re stronger, together.”

Dani nods again, more thoughtfully. When she leans in a fraction, Grace remembers to breathe right up until the point that Dani reaches out to squeeze her hand, just for an instant. 

“You’re doing well, Grace. Take care of yourself.”

That night Grace stretches out the aches in her body, letting the words run off her tongue now and then like a benediction. _You’re doing well, Grace_. Dani’s voice. She lets the echoes of it, the warmth the memory imparts, carry her off into sleep.

\--

**2020**

There’s so much that Grace wants to say to Dani about who she is. Sarah doesn’t _get_ it, and that’s the most infuriating thing about the woman – too much projection of herself onto Dani, maybe, and it means Sarah’s getting it all wrong. Watching Dani panic over the idea that she might have to give birth to a savior – that’s hard, because of what Grace knows. About them. She wants to reassure Dani that never has to happen, but can’t without admitting that she knows her in more ways than one.

They’d had time for a conversation, before Grace left. Looking at each other. Really taking one another in: Dani, who’d lost an eye and nearly an arm, still had bandages swathing the better portion of her torso, was almost able to walk without assistance for the first time in weeks; and Grace, who had been rehabilitated from the Augmentation, with her new scar lines and the nodes at which the metal was closest to the surface of her skin. Dani traced the ones at her clavicle and collarbones with her fingertips.

_Do I scare you? Like this? I’m sorry I broke my promise._

_It’s you,_ Dani murmured, haltingly. She'd winced, holding her ribs for a second. _A_ _nd I will always want you with me. I won’t let this happen again, but it doesn’t frighten me that it has. Because you’re going back to me. That means we have a chance to do things differently._

 _Good. I… I don’t want you to be afraid of me, at least in this time._ Grace struggled, and then continued, _how am I supposed to_ do _this? Without letting your identity slip._ _I don’t want to keep_ _things from you._

 _You can’t help it – it won’t be your fault,_ Dani had said in between breaths, _and I'm sorry I can't tell you everything. Bu_ _t know that when I begin to shut down… you’re there. Keeping me focused. So please. Insist. Tell me to go with you. Listen, learn, but know you’ll make the right choices when it matters. You have good instincts, a kind heart – I’ll come to see that, eventually._

_When will I know when you’re ready? To hear it?_

_You know me, querida. Better than anyone. I’ll need to hear it, badly, and that’s when you tell me._

She’d placed a hand along Grace’s cheek; let it rest there as Grace leaned into it. She was still recovering, so it had taken a while before she finished her thought.

_It’s not a moment, it’s a… a process. Progression. I hear so many things from you that make it possible, bit by bit, to believe what you say about me._

It’s not time, Grace thinks, as the train car sways beneath them, but she can’t spend this whole night in silence. Sarah is sitting, smoking, close to the back of the train car where the wind can blow the smoke away, and Grace gives her as wide a berth as possible. It gives Dani some time, just with her, even if she’s presently looking up at the stars and doesn’t notice Grace getting closer.

 _Who am I?_ Dani had pleaded just hours ago.

That the world should revolve around her. That no one makes it if she doesn’t. That she should warrant such careful protection. Maybe Grace has heard variations of those sentences before – it’d provide an explanation for why they’re going through her head, supplied as though Dani had uttered them herself at some point. You’re mine as much as I’m yours. You gave me a purpose, hope. Everything I desperately needed. You saved me. Let me save you.

Those would all be too overwhelming. At any rate, those phrases speak more to Grace’s devotion than to Dani’s worth, and that’s what Grace is trying to convince her of. Better for Dani to believe that Grace’s urgency right now comes from fear for the fate of humanity, or at least the segment of it that they're aware of after Legion's uprising. No certainty exists within Grace about what she should do – just a memory, an echo of warmth. She wants to reach out with what she can say, right now, and give Dani something to hold on to.

Dani startles when Grace folds down next to her.

When Grace speaks, her words are carefully considered.

“I know… I know that this is incredibly difficult. But I want you to know that you’re handling this well. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

“It doesn’t,” Dani replies quietly, and Grace can hear the tremor in her voice. She reaches over and covers Dani’s hand with her own.

“The person who sent me to help you,” she begins, careful. “Told me that the lie Legion wants us to believe is that we’re alone. Said that we couldn’t lose sight of our place in the whole, or our sense of what we contribute. The same person told me we needed to bear each other’s pain – right now that means helping you with yours. I… can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, or how alone you might feel. But I do want you to know that you get through this. You _matter_ , Dani.”

“I don’t…” Dani heaves a breath in, looks at Grace with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Hesitation, before Grace gently folds her fingers around Dani’s hand, winds her other arm around Dani's waist. 

“You can. With us.”

And although she’d rather not include her at all, Grace tips her chin towards Sarah.

Dani wipes at her eyes, swallows, breathes a few times until they come evenly. She leans her head on Grace's shoulder, threads their fingers together.

"I'll try. Somehow you almost make me believe you." 

Grace squeezes her hand, heart in throat. 

"Future shit," she whispers, and when Dani laughs in spite of herself Grace knows it was the right thing to say. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started with Words of Affirmation because that's definitely the love language that I feel I'm least familiar and comfortable with, both in terms of how I give and receive affection, so... inhabiting this was a useful exercise. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading.


	2. Acts of Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acts of Service:  
> Actions, rather than words, are used to show and receive love.  
> A desire to make life easier for the other person. 
> 
> Thoughtfulness, diligence, intention, and anticipation of need.

**2038**

It’s not a terrible thing to want your experience of the world to match the way that you’re feeling.

That’s the excuse Dani gives herself for why she’s moving too quickly, impacts jarring their way up through her calf-bones and into her knees with every footfall; she should slow down. She’s not in her early twenties anymore, and the complaints of her joints are starting to prove it. In the past, she would have had music to rely on for catharsis, tinny and thin through a set of stolen headphones or thudding loudly from the speakers in her and Sarah’s range rover. But this is the now she hasn’t figured out how to stop yet, and so there’s nothing to bounce her feelings off of except the litany of grievances ratcheting one point at a time through her mind like a gear snicking against its neighbour.

Bad enough to be woken early and need to leave Grace like a fugitive among the blankets in her room so that no one could cry impropriety. No sooner had her control team managed to shunt her into the briefing room, but Dani’s adrenaline was compounded on by bad news. No comforts, no coffee – they are rationing their final reserves of the stuff, even though what’s left is gritty. Just her slowed faculties and muddied thoughts, brain half-cocked and sludgy as engine oil left out in the cold too long as they urged her to tell them what to do.

The morning had become a blur of maps, data-management holograms, and laser-sketched routes through enemy terrain, as the GIS specialists in her intelligence division ran her through the tactical decisions they needed her to make. Legion incursions. Advances on the fringes of settlements independent to the Resistance. With this intel in they’d needed a plan, but for fuck’s sake, Dani was _tired_. She couldn’t deny them their request, but could sense the anxiety metal-bright on the air as they waited for her, second by second trickling by, to mull things over long enough to make a decision. Given the circumstances, she’s not sure she trusts the conclusions she came to, or the directives issued, but as always: something to go on. That’s what they’d looked to her for.

Coursing through the hallways towards her quarters, Dani continues her inventory of things gone wrong: She hasn’t eaten yet, despite being awake now for 8 hours. This, in no small part because facilities came to her about a half-dozen issues in barracks AM-7 through AQ-3, everything from the steel-shortage to malfunctioning ceiling lights to leaks in the hydroponic units. The radiocomms for the outposts are on the fritz again. Looking at the scuffed tops and ragged re-stitching on her boots, they’ll need resoling soon. Competing with that need, and the similar needs of some of her soldiers, the school submitted a requisition for rubber to cap off hard edges in the classrooms. Another fistfight broke out in the civilian quarter last night. It was initiated by some white ex-suburbanite Gulf Coasters who still can’t seem to leave their racial prejudices checked at the gate; that, she’ll have to pass off to one of her senior officers, because she doesn’t have time to _deal_ with that kind of bullshit right now. Also, her feet are cold.

Probably because of the re-soling issue.

It shouldn’t feel as satisfying to grate open her door, but oh – it does. Sound and sensation to reflect what she’s been feeling – the squeal, the shriek of metal! And yet when she casts her eyes up and into the room – as they widen at what they see – the _clang_ as the door slams into its recess hardly registers.

Dani’s first thought isn’t that someone’s been in her room, but that Grace is no longer in it. That’s hardly a surprise, given the lateness of the day – Grace would have needed to report hours ago. But Dani had expected the usual chaos to greet her. 

She sleeps on a mattress, balanced atop a set of wooden pallets softened by high-density foam matting, covered in old quilts salvaged from empty malls. Neatly, her bed has been made.

Some days, Dani arrives back too exhausted to do more than strip her fatigues and leave them strewn and crumpled around every surface. Grace has taken care of those too, piled into the crate marked for UV laundering.

She didn’t touch the papers on the desk, but she cleared away the growing collection of tin mugs that Dani laughed off sheepishly last night. Must have taken the discard basket of old files to be pulped, though, because that’s also gone.

The air smells cleaner, somehow, and Dani glances to the HVAC grate to see that it’s been scrubbed.

But the thing that gets to her most is the small garden close to the bed. Grace has trimmed the dead leaves from each tiny plant, beneath their individual pools of LED-cast light.

Dani rubs a leaf between her fingers and inhales the scent of oregano, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Something is swelling up in her – shame, partly, but not just that. Gratitude, maybe, and another feeling.

She forgets, sometimes, how hard it is to lead. The goal has been to convey discipline in all things, and here ends up being the one place that sometimes, she lets go of – easy enough. It’s her duty to look after the needs of the multitude. They need her to be strong, so she is; to inspire, so she does. And because they afford her privacy in here, the basic things fall to the wayside. Maintenance, mostly, even though Dani isn’t proud of that. There are times when her body feels sodden with want, defensive and angry for all the things that can’t be helped.

But as Dani stands here, looking around the space that Grace managed for her, there’s a few drips of relief that enter her system.

Slowly, the slowest she’s moved all day, Dani goes to the bed. She sits at the edge, unthreads her bootlaces in loops; uses the toe of one to hold the heel of the other so she can kick first one, then the other off. She rights them, straightens and neatens them, then wiggles her frigid toes.

Then Dani flings back the cover and rolls herself under her sheets, relishing this moment. A few seconds stolen back to herself, thanks to all the chores she no longer has to lie in the middle of not-doing. As mindful as she can, Dani runs her hands over the quilt-tops loose threads and worn patches. When she turns over, her face ends up in the pillows, and Dani breathes deep.

It still smells like Grace. Dani was wrong – she’s still here. The evidence is all around her.

\--

**2020**

The house Dani’s uncle lives in is modest, intensely normal. Lived in, but tidy – she hasn’t been here in years, but her cousin Carlos sprawling unconcerned on the couch convinces Dani that not much has changed. Same posture, same idle but watchful stare as he picks under his nails with the tip of a small knife. He’s just a foot or so taller than when he was a teenager. By day he works in a mechanic’s shop; by night, he helps with the crossings. In a few hours Dani will watch him assemble packages, bottles of water bound with twine to bundles holding fresh tortilla, dried strips of meat and fruit. When unfolded, the bundle becomes a thin sheet, camouflaged but capable of retaining body heat and throwing off thermal-imaging cameras. They don’t do this for money. They do this so that people have at least some resources for the desert.

Grace seems uncomfortable, here, but Dani’s starting to get the idea that she’s not comfortable anywhere in this time. So it’s nothing personal, which Dani tells her cousin furtively in the kitchen. Dani’s also pretty certain at this point that Sarah understands Spanish. She catches the older woman watching her while her uncle incredulously asks about the finer points of Terminator hunting. Wonders how much she’s hearing.

Through the doorway, Dani can see into the other room and her heart melts a little bit; Grace, having finished the food that was on her plate, is now surreptitiously running a finger around the edge of it. She licks off the remnants there, and two thoughts occur to Dani in rapid succession: how rich all of this must be to her, how indulgent. And that this woman has run on adrenaline and a cocktail of drugs for the better part of nearly 24 hours, with this as her first meal in all that time. She must be starving.

And knowing Grace, even as shallowly as Dani knows her, she’s going to forgo asking for more in an effort not to seem demanding.

Dani pushes past Carlos to reach into the fridge.

“ _Hey-_ “

“Tsh.” Dani shushes him, grabbing a few palm-sized mangos and testing the skin. These will be sweet, from the give and the aroma. There’s some cold leftover lengua, so Dani grabs a portion of that too, along with lime to squeeze on top. While Sarah and her uncle continue to talk in the other room, while Grace keeps tabs on the conversation – listening, maybe, learning, strategizing, monitoring – Dani slices the skin off of the mangoes in thick ribbons, drops the curl of them to the counter. She licks the juice off her fingers and from the corner of her eye notices that Grace watches her do that, before she glances away and interjects in response to something Sarah said. No chips, but there are Takis stashed in one of the cupboards, and maybe Sarah will consider that an adequate offering. If she asks, Dani will make her a plate too, but she doubts that’ll happen.

This is good. Like a ritual. This makes her feel normal, for a moment. Preparing a meal.

Dani re-enters the room as her uncle laughs, a disbelieving sound; she drops the Takis in Sarah’s hands, then circles around the table to where Grace sits. Grace straightens when she approaches, Dani sees, and her eyes go wide when Dani hands her the plate.

“There’s more,” she says quietly, taking the empty one. “Give me a moment.”

“Dani, I – you don’t have to –”

“Please.” When Dani murmurs that, Grace stops. Listens. “You’ve been taking care of me this whole time. You’ve hardly had time to eat, or rest. This is nothing. Don’t make yourself sick if I'm giving you too much, but… it’s okay.”

The next time she comes back, it’s with a bottle of cold water and the mango slices – Grace has already wolfed down at least two-thirds of what was there. She clears her throat as Dani approaches, which is either swallowing wrong or something more.

“It’s so good,” Grace mumbles around a cheekful of the stew. It makes Dani smile, setting the rest down in front of her, and Grace ducks her head like she's embarassed. 

“You only doing food delivery for her?” Sarah calls out, “or is there any more of that fruit to share with the class?”

“What kind of host would I be if not?” Her uncle replies, before Dani can. 

“Bring me some and I’ll use my own knife,” Sarah says, still speaking more to Dani than not, and Dani’s uncle laughs.

“You sure that’s such a good idea, the things you’ve told me you’ve used it for?”

His baiting works. Sarah re-engages, and Dani nods at him for saving the moment. Despite the banter in the background, it doesn’t escape Dani that Grace finishes everything that was brought to her. Downs the water in a few gulps, her head tipped back and a few drops of condensation falling from the bottle to the skin at the hollow of her throat. There’s a low tickle, all through Dani’s scalp, at the sight, but she shakes it off. Must be the heat. Grace makes a noise of protest as Dani starts to clear away the other dishes, too, tries to get up, but Dani stills her again with a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me,” Dani says, and Grace, mutely, nods. For the first time, Dani sees her relax slightly, leaning back into her seat. Something shining in her eyes. Dani folds up the memory, encloses it to save for later when she needs it. She doesn’t have much to give, and the food wasn’t hers, strictly speaking. But still.

It was something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acts of service is a **big** one for me, and while I skew strongly towards the domestic in this chapter, I also firmly believe that building a bed-frame together and sundry other acts apply, especially when you take on the tasks that your partner doesn't particularly enjoy doing. 
> 
> This does, of course, mean that in the universe where Grace Is Fine, Dani changes the oil in their car while Grace is fixing their plumbing, although Grace wears a pair of shop overalls while she does so Because She Can. Someone write me the tradesperson AU for these two please and have them fall in love over car maintenance and the contents of their respective tool-kits.


	3. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts:  
> Tangible items or experiences selected to have meaning and value.  
> A desire to fill a need, or provide for someone what will delight them.
> 
> Symbolism, utility, generosity, and individualization.

**2039**

There’s no telling how long Grace has saved up for this. Textiles are supposed to be scrupulously passed through a particular set of uses before final disposition. Grace is breaking all the rules, having scavenged these remnants early rather than see them become patches or stuffing or medical bandages. The whispers of cloth passed through her fingers and into a pocket before anyone noticed. Like when she was fourteen and full of reactive anger, a feeling that she channeled into stealing. She’d been wary of the Resistance, certain that if she didn’t hoard food it would be withheld. That sort of thing. They caught her back then, of course, and had coaxed her into trust, but she’s older and knows better and is a soldier. There will be repercussions if she’s caught.

Further souring her mood in this moment is the goddamn needle held clumsily in her hands, the treacherously tangling thread that she can’t wrangle into submission – this should have been _easy_. So much effort, a mild amount of risk, and it’s all going to waste. Grace never learned any of this. Thought it was boring, huffed in frustration all through art class crafts, wanted to learn practical stitches rather than this kind of frou-frou shit. She's regretting some of that, now. 

And yet she wanted to do something just-because, as a _gesture_ , and how hard could it _be?_ Making a flower. One that won't wilt or die. 

Grace stabs herself in the fingertip, hisses, dropping the mass of fabric petals to the floor. Cross-legged on her cot in her underwear, she stares at what she’s making: a haphazardly conjoined bunch of rough-cut ovals, some of them already starting to fray at the edges thanks to her handling of them. There’s a small pile of additional petals resting next to her. She can see every stitch, the minute loops where a knot formed in her thread and she couldn’t get it out or didn’t notice it until she was four stitches ahead. Grace stares at the ragged bundle for a bit before lifting her finger to eye-level. She pinches with the thumb and forefinger of her opposite hand, watching a tiny bead of blood well up.

“ _Shit._ ”

With her heel, she grinds the fabric into the concrete; lifts her foot to see that it’s now scuffed with dirt and looking more like a ball of lint than ever.

This was a mistake, Grace thinks, tugging her cargo pants back on and shrugging on a t-shirt. She’ll toss the evidence of her failure in the trash incinerator that circulates waste-heat through the barracks on her way to the fabrication sector. The backup plan is going to get her in even _more_ trouble if she’s caught, but she's betting on Dani forgiving her, letting her off with a scolding. 

Besides, Grace thinks with a growing sense of determination, all that’s needed is some aluminum, a set of bolt cutters to snip out the pieces, and a few hours with an arc welder. As far as raw materials go, aluminum has been easy enough to acquire topside, and she knows her way around the gas torch. A machining practicum was how they’d kept her out of trouble in her late teens, when she needed somewhere to be since she was too young to enlist. As long as there’s a corner booth to herself and a mask, she’ll be fine.

By the time Grace finishes, she’s missed evening rations and her absence will have been noted by the rest of her squad mates. She’s bracing herself already to endure teasing from Juan and suggestive remarks from Queenie, both of whom will assume that she’s been giving her bunk a solo workout, or holing up in a storage closet somewhere for a hookup. Her sweatiness won’t do much to quell that sort of commentary. And yet it’s done, and as Grace turns what she’s created over in her hands – sharp edges and all – there’s no denying the deep sense of satisfaction lodged behind her breastbone. It gleams in the light. It’s durable and beautiful, even with its imperfections, and the only thing left to do is grind down the bottom so that it can rest flat on a desk somewhere without tipping over. Grace goes to a different part of the metal shop, flips a visor over her eyes, and switches on the angle grinder. She starts to slice carefully across the joining points of all the petals, sparks fountaining up around her guarded face.

Even so, it takes Grace several more days before she’s able to leave her offering in Dani’s room, secreted in when she knows Dani will be out. Once she got started on the finishing touches, it was hard to stop. Pliers to ripple the edges of each petal, slightly, to give each a softer appearance. A small amount of polish, applied with a chamois that she filched for a few hours. Finally, painstakingly, transcribing directly from a book treasured in the tiny library maintained by a single woman, Grace pencils a note that she’ll leave along with the metal rose she’s created.

The poem in its entirety says something Grace would never be able to write on her own, and letter by letter she feels like she’s laying something bare:

_No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio  
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:  
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,  
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma…_

Within a few hours of dropping the welded rose off in Dani’s room, Grace hears a knock on her door. She opens it to Dani’s weary face, a bright grin stretched across her face and tears in her eyes.

“I ought to kick your ass,” Dani laughs, “misusing our resources this way.”

But the effect of her words is spoiled entirely by the fact that she throws her arms around Grace, uses a foot to knock the door closed behind her. Grace can’t stop smiling, though she probably looks goofy, and Dani kisses her full and heavy on the mouth.

\--

**2020**

They’re creeping through a desert valley in the dim light of pre-dawn blue hour; Grace taps a finger against the inside of one wrist, and the readouts she’s looking at change. The terrain map briefly fades, and instead she looks at a timestamp from what amounts to a nuclear clock built into her body. They’ve got less than two hours before daybreak, and she says as much to Dani’s uncle.

“Let’s go even faster,” he whispers back hoarsely, and she knows he’s spooked. Should be. The drone might still be above them.

Her map comes back up, along with the thermal scan. Cortisol elevated, still. Wind out of the south-east. They keep going. Drone doesn’t come back.

At the edge of the lake, with her uncle and cousin loosening rope and inflating the raft they’ll use to traverse dark waters, Dani puts a hand on Grace’s shoulder.

“What will we do when we get into America?” She asks anxiously, and Grace realizes she doesn’t have an answer.

“Our first goal will be transport,” she offers eventually. “I can navigate us, without tapping into the satellite. There’s a series of old-world maps downloaded into my software – from this time, I mean. You… you don’t need to worry.”

She’d almost said, _you thought of that, along with the coordinates._

Grace is getting really fed up with having to strip down everything that she says. But Dani told her that she’d know when to divulge more, and it’s definitely not time yet.

The raft is pushed into the water and then tugged back with a short jerk of the rope. Dani’s uncle waves, beckons them all forward, and Sarah pushes past Grace, bumping into her arm as she walks past. Grace is about to follow, irritated, but Dani seizes her wrist.

“Wait!” She urges, and Grace does, immediately.

“You keep doing things for me,” Dani says hurriedly. “And I don’t understand them, but I know you say it is to protect me. I keep thinking I’m running out of time to say thank you. So please…”

From inside her shirt, Dani lifts out a thin metal chain, a small medal dangling at the end of it. The chain is short enough that she has to unclasp it, before she hands it over. The chain puddles in Grace’s hand, dangles between her fingers as she thumbs over the flat metal pendant.

“San Miguel Arcángel,” Dani whispers. “My mother gave it to me, before she passed. I don’t… I don’t believe the way that others do, but I feel like we need all the help we can get. He is a protector, mostly, I think. Like you.”

“ _Dani_ ,” Carlos hisses back through the dark, and Dani jerks, rushes forward to join the others.

Wordlessly, Grace studies the figure stamped into the metal. She’s not sure what to make of this, other than the fact that Dani wants her to have it. Once clasped, Grace tucks the chain into her shirt.

The cold of it is tangible, where it hangs just above her sternum. She’s hyper-aware of it in the moments that follow – when she tells Dani to run when they start to kill her; when they zip-tie her wrists together behind her back; when a cold _no_ pulses through her, as she snaps her bindings and charges forward to slam Dani out of the way.

She’s meant to be Dani’s guardian. Whether angels exist or not, Grace is who Dani’s got. 

The drone detonates.

Emerging from the dark – _everything hurts_ – with her ears ringing and her ocular implants flickering slowly back to life, Grace sucks in a breath. Something clatters at her wrists. Not for long - more cuffs, metal ones this time, and she breaks the chain that links them above her head. She hears gasps, the sound of a standard issue baton being flicked open with a snap. Grace turns herself on her side, groaning – that part’s not acting – and waits. Blood pumps sick and surging in her veins. Her ears are still ringing from the long-ago explosion, and adrenaline cascades through her system – she watches the hormone’s concentration reading spike against the inside of her eyelids, printed in neon light. Footsteps, on the floor, advancing. She needs to get to Dani. Right now.

Above her, a guard reaches out a hand.

Her eyes flash open and her leg kicks out.

Moments later, panting, heaving breath, supporting herself against the wall, she catches a glimpse of what they were scanning on their computers. Anger burns up in her, acrid and encompassing. She feels righteous with it. Avenging. The gown they put her in crinkles, paper-thin against her skin. These fucking jailers took her _goddamn clothes_.

“Did I say you could look at my private parts?” She enunciates, clear and deliberate, and watches the woman’s eyes go wide as she slams another doctor’s head into the wall with a _clang_.

On her way out the door, she retrieves the medallion Dani gave her, the chain slithering cold and delicate around her neck. It’s the only thing she came in with that she’s not leaving without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel uniquely qualified as a former Home Ec teacher who also worked briefly in a trade school to say that hey, sewing is really hard and sometimes the kids do better off in the metal shop. Either way, a rose is a rose. The quote that Grace writes comes from Pablo Neruda’s [“Love Sonnet XVII”](https://hellopoetry.com/poem/9959/xvii-i-do-not-love-you/). I managed to find a copy of it in the original Spanish, and oh, it’s lovely. The whole thing is a poem I think would likely resonate for both of these two. My lesbian raised-Catholic ass feels very satisfied bringing saint-medallions into this. Got an occupation? Wanna ward off licherally any illness you can think of? There's a patron saint for that. It's all very ~symbolic~.


	4. Quality Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quality Time:  
> Expressing affection with undivided, undistracted attention.  
> Presence with the other person, regardless of what you are doing. 
> 
> Existing, sharing, conversing, being.

**2041**

Dani tries not to yell at her top officers. It’s antithetical to good working relationships. But she insists upon consensus, and at this meeting of _dozens_ , there is only one holdout to the last item they resolve. She’s had enough of him.

“It makes no sense not to train replacements!”

“You know how soldiers talk,” Joe tries to placate her. “Acknowledging the possibility of failure is bad for morale…” 

“Worse if we set no contingencies whatsoever. I want them to know there is hope, even if I am gone. That we _planned_ for–”

“And we want to keep perspective. Commander Ramos–”

“What are we doing this for?” Dani bulldozes him, refusing to let him cut her off. “To live in a hole forever? If we leave ourselves no alternative options, we lose. Other times, I accept your rationale is strong. But this? No. I stand firm in my decision, and the rest are behind me. Do you _still_ disagree?”

A coarse tension in the room, while she waits. Finally, he raises his hands. “No. I cede.”

Dani nods, sharply, anything but satisfied with how this turned out. “Good. I will tell the captains myself, but I want _nominations_ , and I leave that process to you all. And I want transparency. Inform me of any issues, but I trust your capacity to address concerns. We remain a network.” 

She brushes past him, looks around to stare at everyone else in the room. All but a few meet her gaze.

Dani doesn’t wait for the rest to start to clatter, gather their things, before she leaves the room. Further down the hallway, Grace stands, leaning against the wall with her feet crossed at the ankles, arms crossed at her chest. One look, and Dani knows that she’s been listening.

“First meeting back after what happened, and I _still_ had to convince Joe that we should find someone who can take my place if needed.”

“Come on,” Grace says, and they take off together.

The Resistance compound sprawls, subterranean and massive, through what used to be a university. There are tunnels, connecting the buildings –service access only, although enterprising students may have discovered them at some point. Upper levels of buildings are so frequently razed or crumbling, but these ones have survived – some civilians joke among themselves that the Brutalist architecture has been good for something, at least.

The Engineering Corps first had to map all weak points and seal them. Dig some new tunnels, perilously, to connect other areas; simultaneously, link old subway stations and basements and parking structures into the larger system before padding out a wide buffer inclusive of checkpoints at all their key entrances. By now Dani and Grace know how to traverse some of these spaces unseen. It used to be that Dani came up alone. She didn't presume that Grace would have noticed, and one day, followed her. Nowadays, she’s glad for the company.

Above, once they’ve scaled the concrete steps inside an old parking deck almost to the top, Grace sits beside her. Ahead of them is a rust-toned skyline on one of the few partially sunny days they’ve had in a while. The sun is bloody, lurid crimson. They’re visually concealed by an overhang, and Dani was careful to wear thermal blocking layers. From this high, they’ve got a vantage point on the lake: a flat, smooth, burning–bronze expanse of water beyond buildings that look like broken teeth. A smell like creosote remains on the warm wind, omnipresent. They used to call this golden hour.

“What can I do?” Grace asks, once they've had a chance to settle in. 

“Keep me company.”

Between them, Grace’s hand slips into Dani’s.

“This always feels so reckless.”

“No,” Dani responds, firmly. “We need this, you and I. I refuse to believe this isn’t worth it – so many ways we could lose each other. Being with you, with privacy, it isn’t selfish. It’s necessary.”

“I know. I just meant the coming out here, without telling anyone.” 

“Ah.”

A beat of hesitation before Grace leans in, roguishly whispers, “I’m into it, though.”

That makes Dani laugh. They sit quietly for a while. It’s not canned air, no damp quality or taste of soil to it. Eventually, Dani lets herself tip towards Grace, head coming to rest against Grace’s arm.

“I never let myself think about after,” Dani says at last.

“After what?”

_After you’re gone._

“After the war.” She’s proud of herself – not even a pause. “After what’s left to do. Maybe I should.”

Grace is looking at her, softly. All at once Dani feels her throat seizing and a prickle through her eyes; today was _hard_ , and the progress she’s made comes with a cost to her that no one else seems to realize. Some small, selfish part of her wanted to agree with Joe – pretend like everything was fine, that the last mission she'd been on hadn't been such a close call. She'd gotten out okay with nothing more than tinnitus and mild abrasions. Two soldiers had died covering their retreat. Being told that it could have been worse doesn't lessen the burden, nor her conviction that they need to _plan_ for the worst. And sometimes, she remembers the year that Grace told her she was from, and she knows it’s getting closer. And Grace isn't an Augment, not yet. Dani is afraid of when that may happen. Or why. 

“I’d like to be unnecessary, sometimes.”

At that, Grace squeezes her hand. “You could never be. But go on.”

When the words finally bubble up inside her, Dani feels like she's purging something caustic. 

“What makes me the hero of this story? A fluke of geography? Causation? If Legion’s core code wasn’t developed here, this continent would never have become the battleground. I come up here to see the horizon. To remind myself we can’t possibly be the only ones still out there. I can’t be all that’s worth saving.” 

Grace reaches out, tucks Dani in closer. “…I think I understand.”

“I needed to get out of there for a while. Even surrounded by so many people down there, sometimes I just… feel alone. And overwhelmed.”

“I’m here with you.”

“You are.”

Together, they watch the sun go down. Then they return home.

\--

**2020**

It’s so quiet, here at the cabin. Isolated.

Sarah and Carl continue to load the van with artillery – Dani keeps catching Sarah shooting her glances, watching her and Grace interacting with the strangest look on her face. Dani’s most comfortable here, where she can keep an eye on Sarah – the woman’s grief and rage remains palpable, but under control. A not insignificant part of Dani wants to make sure she’ll be okay. Her grip when Dani took her hand had been so strong, but Dani’d felt some fragility in it. Maybe a shadow of the kind Dani sensed, when Grace revealed that Sarah hadn’t succeeded in preventing the apocalypse – not completely.

When Grace passes her, lugging a crate of ammunition, Dani whispers. “Can we talk?”

Grace flicks her eyes in her direction, and inclines her head almost imperceptibly.

Dani retraces her steps from earlier, going towards the porch and sitting on one of the lower stairs. She traces patterns in the woodgrain, smooth cedar planking with a spicy aroma that makes her feel like she’s able to breathe more easily. Now that they’ve got a plan, one that she had a say in, she has a sense of clarity that’s been absent. All the same…

After a brief period, Grace joins her.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Grace looks taken aback as she lowers herself down next to Dani.

“I wish I hadn’t yelled at you,” Dani says. “Though I stand by what I said… how I said it feels like an unkindness.”

Grace laughs, then, light but honest, and relaxes a little.

“I’ve been yelled at a lot in the future. I tend to deserve it. Here, too – I shouldn’t have tried to override you.”

“Still.”

“I can be… well.” Grace gently nudges Dani, who feels a brief skip in her heart. A soft, spreading warmth as Grace doesn’t disengage from where she leans up against Dani. “This’ll sound stupid, or obvious, with how I’ve acted this whole time. Overprotective. Sometimes I need reining in.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid, and I wouldn’t want to control you. But I am glad you listened.”

Grace smiles, slight and shy and only there for an instant before her expression fades back to a kind of guarded sadness.

“There are so many questions I have for you,” Dani continues after a second. 

“I have answers,” Grace replies carefully. “Some of them.”

“If we see this through to the end,” Dani says, “and make it to the future you come from… what are our chances? Of actually beating Legion?”

“…Hard to say,” Grace allows. “The Resistance was at the epicentre of the conflict. We never determined where the boundaries of their territories lay, or how widespread their influence was. We assumed global, because we didn’t know for sure. Reports were that parts of America were... glass. We never got far enough into Canada to verify what happened there. And even so, our Commander…”

She has to pause, and Dani notices her throat works, struggling for a moment before she continues. “Our Commander used to tell us that we _had_ to consider it possible that if we won, we’d win for everyone.”

That’s about what she was expecting. Hope, but not a lot of certainty. Maybe that’s just what all of life would be like for her, now. And now that's over with. 

“That’s not the only reason I wanted to call you over.”

“Oh?”

Dani tucks her legs up closer to her chest, drapes her arms over her knees and stares off into the forest. Waving branches with soft needles in overlapping arrays, an inverted pattern in the ferns reaching upwards from the underbrush, a delicate chartreuse carpet of moss, the distant chirping of birds. Something tiny scampers through the underbrush.

“Can I ask why you did, then?” Grace asks, as though she’s afraid to know.

“I wanted to be around you.” Dani says at last. “Take a moment, a few. Something about you makes me feel calm. Not just safe, but calm. I’m grateful for that. I was wondering… when this is over, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

She watches Grace freeze.

“I… I’m sorry if…” Dani begins, but Grace shakes her head. She shifts, where she’s sitting; Dani notices one of her legs shake up and down for a second before Grace stills it.

“The stars.” Grace whispers hoarsely. “I’d want to just go… lay outside, somewhere. And look at them. For as long as I wanted. I saw them on the train – not for long enough. That was the most I can ever remember seeing; they go on forever. I'd like to lose myself in that.”

In the far background, Dani can see Carl and Sarah continuing to load their vehicle. Sarah looks at them, but says nothing – does nothing. No griping, no barbs shouted in their direction; she just turns and continues working. The only explanation Dani can think of is that Sarah’s giving them space. That’s unexpected. As her focus returns to Grace, she sees impossibly blue eyes looking right at her.

“More time,” Grace finishes. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, really.”

Though she doesn’t elaborate. They linger for a while longer, like that. Not speaking. Barely touching. Dani keeps thinking of things she wants to say that would be so much easier to say in Spanish, but none of them feel right to express; she’s not even sure they’d make sense. An inexplicable sense of longing. Familiarity, too – and that _stillness_ , how much she wants to emphasize or express to Grace that when they’re together, it’s like she has a fragment of this place, the trees, the solitude, safe and quiet inside her, protected and untouchable. Impossible to say how much time passes, but it feels like all too quickly Grace is shifting to stand.

“I want to help prepare, as well.”

Grace nods, and helps Dani to her feet with an outstretched hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I did it again... created minor plot! Also a semi-coherent chronological order to these, though I may have to break that in the next chapter. Even so... the warmth of response to this fic has been really lovely. 
> 
> This love language is also a huge one to me, though writing it made me realize it's a little more... esoteric? than some of the others. Likely because quality time is so intangible. Also because it was _really_ surprisingly difficult to come up with situations where the two of them could have privacy, in a present time when they're literally in a death race for Dani's life, or in a highly regimented future where life is so structured for both of them out of necessity. Hope it's plausible.
> 
> Physical affection is left, and then we're wrapping this one up. Thank you so much for reading, and for your comments - I so, so appreciate them, and my heart is really full.


	5. Physical Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Physical affection:  
> Affection expressed through physical touch, whether holding hands, cuddling, sexual touch, or otherwise.  
> The desire to show care and attention through the body. 
> 
> Intimacy, closeness, fondness, gravity.

**2042**

What Grace knows of respite is bound up in this room. Candlelight after curfew, the amber cast of it on the walls and surfaces; a quiet gurgle of water from Dani’s garden; the smooth hard planes of concrete turned velvety by shadow. Distant clangs through the pipes laid into the ceiling and snaking along the walls. Dani’s chair, the desk, the bed, the threadbare rug on the floor. Memories encoded in every square inch of the layout. And the tranquility of Grace’s mind, when here, is noteworthy – her thoughts are so rarely quiet.

Between her fingers, Dani’s braids are gradually undone. Strand over strand, Grace detangles them, smooths them away from Dani’s scalp; she cards through with gentle focus after each twist comes part. Dani sits on the floor cross-legged with her head tipped back into Grace’s hands and her eyes closed. As another section of Dani’s hair comes fully loose, Dani hums with pleasure. Almost in response, there’s a warm blooming shiver that echoes across Grace’s own head – racing down her neck and her spine.

She works in weighty, comfortable silence for a while, listening as Dani’s breath evens out. Relief ebbs through Dani’s shoulders more and more as tension is released; by the end of the final braid, Dani’s arms have fallen from her lap to the floor, hands uncurled and turned palm-up. When Grace withdraws, running her fingers in gentle waves over Dani’s scalp one final time, she smiles and lifts her gaze.

“Easier to let go of the day like this,” she mumbles. “Thank you.”

Grace continues stroking along Dani’s hair absently. “My pleasure.”

She doesn’t want to stop yet, but is forced to when Dani lifts her arms, stretching long and unhurried.

“Your turn.”

Dani tucks her legs in and underneath her, pivots on her knees before standing. Grace, reluctant to move, waits until Dani’s settled next to her so she can cup softly along the back of Dani’s head. Search her face. Draw her in for a kiss. Dani obliges, smiling, then gently taps on Grace’s shoulder. _Down._

Once situated Dani runs a hand over the back of Grace’s neck, her nape, the fine hairs there. It raises goosebumps, makes Grace shiver down to her fingertips.

“Ok?” Dani asks, softly, and Grace hums an affirmative noise. It’s always hard to speak, when Dani touches her as lightly as this. Almost too gentle. She slips the straps of Grace’s tank top gently to either side, trailing her fingers.

Dani’s other hand joins the first, both resting with her fingers wrapped gently down towards her clavicle; Grace feels her take a moment there, running her thumbs over the skin on Grace’s back, like she's learning the territory she's dealing with tonight. Then she presses, in a long sloping motion from neck to shoulder. Even expecting it, Grace has to muffle a groan back in her throat – there’s a bright hot line of soreness there, and Dani’s thumbs are digging in at it. Seeking out the tendons and the muscle knots. They’re not hard to find, Grace thinks. Her back is a minefield of them.

She’d forgotten how many aches she had, before Dani started calling attention back to them – when she’s ministering to Dani, she can shove any discomfort to the back of her mind. Compartmentalize it, for a bit. Stroke by stroke, kneading, pressing, smoothing out her muscles for an indeterminate time… Grace could cry, for the way that Dani’s fixing what hurts.

At a particularly tough knot, Grace winces – holds the rest of herself steady so that Dani won’t notice, until at last it releases. “The training’s come a long way from automated paintball,” she mutters.

Above her, Dani chuckles, a hint of regret tinting her voice. “Exponential advances… I’m sorry it affects you like this.”

“You make things better,” Grace replies. She captures one of Dani’s hands, just for an instant, pressing her lips quick and tender at the base of Dani’s thumb. Then she lets herself relax back into Dani’s roaming hands.

“I used to do this for my family, a long time ago. I’m glad I can for you.”

Grace tips her head back at the quietness in Dani’s voice, like she’s gone inward.

“Are you sure about tomorrow? Coming along?” Grace probes.

“As much as I can be. I’ve done it before.”

“…Does it ever scare you?”

“Not as much as some things. How are you?” 

Grace tilts her head experimentally from one side to the next, stretching out her tendons; rolls her neck, her shoulders. “A lot better.”

“Good.”

But Dani doesn’t pull away – runs her fingers, lighter now, along Grace’s collarbones. Uses her fingertips to massage gentle circles into the skin just below them, although she doesn’t go lower. And then Dani is tipping forward, her hair curtaining around them both. She bends towards Grace, a hand coming up sudden below Grace’s chin, tipping her head up and backwards. Dani kisses her, slow, long and yet never long enough. When they part again, Dani runs a fingertip over Grace’s lower lip. Her heart thrums, thrills.

“Will you stay tonight? Be with me?”

“Of course,” Grace breathes, and Dani kisses her again. Hauls her up from the floor gently, taking her hand to do so. They fall back into the bed, together, Grace feeling Dani fit herself into place against her body. Skin to skin, hand to hand, through all the minutes and the hours that follow, as though she never wants to let go.

\--

**2020**

Dani has always been told that she’s an affectionate person.

For her there is an easiness and simple comfort in touch – an embrace, or the kisses she’d confer on Diego or her Papi’s cheeks when there was something to celebrate. A casual arm flung around her friends as they walked down the street; leaning against one another to gossip in the bathroom, giving themselves razor burn on their calves or trying outfits on; the natural tangle of limbs between her and Carla and Jacinta as they all gathered to watch shows in someone’s bedroom, back when they were all in _bachillerato_ classes.

Perhaps that’s why it’s felt as though touching Grace was familiar. From the start, the woman has behaved with so much intimacy towards her that it felt… natural. Never mind that Dani hasn’t taken a proper breath in days. Ignore the constant panic that she can feel simmering below her surface, like water under a thin film of oil. Repress any urge to scream or cry or _fight_. When she watched Grace in action, it was like having all of her own fury channeled. When Grace held her… 

_I've seen that look too many times._

Dani tries to think back, in this moment, in the dark, in the plane, with Carl looking on impassively and Sarah saying nothing and Grace waiting for her reaction.

Nothing about the factory, where this started. Or the moments on the scorching overpass, or the pharmacy. Nothing soaked in desperation or anguish.

But Grace’s head, in her lap. Breath harsh and laboured through airways that didn’t seem quite open enough, and her skin burning up and clammy all at once. How Dani brushed the hair away from Grace’s sweat-beaded face, helped Sarah carry her in and lay her down on the bed of the hotel. Arranged the sheets around her so that she’d be comfortable.

A parallel, later, in the truck bed on the way to her uncle’s house. She had slept, then, certain that such a thing wouldn’t be possible until the moment she was waking back up. Grace had been so, so careful not to move, with Dani’s head laid in her lap. Despite the gravel, the bumps on the road, she hadn’t felt a thing. And at their destination, Grace, helping her down. Dani feeling aware of every callous on Grace’s palms, the strength and surety of her grip. If her uncle or cousin had noticed either of them, the way they gravitated in each other’s orbit, neither had said.

Grace lifting her, hand pressed to the small of Dani’s back in support, as they hopped up onto the train as it picked up speed; later, Grace laying a soft chambray shirt down to support Dani’s head as she tried to sleep again (that time, she’d failed). As she’d drifted between waking and restless lucid dreams, Dani had called up the sense-memory of how Grace’s hand felt, supporting her – like being sun-warmed on a cloudless day. That kind of warmth, the heat that lingers and lives in your skin even after you enter the shade.

A body bracketing her to the side of a canyon wall in the desert. Knowing how it felt to have Grace’s arms wrapped around her, even protectively, and wanting the security of that to last. Dani, hurling herself out of the caged enclosure and into Grace’s waiting arms, a hand encircling her wrist to drag her through a swarming crush of people. And the giddy, terrified thought that everything would be alright. Surely, now, she was safe again...

Every time they reconnected, electrifying. Hands on faces, eyes searching for any sign of harm or injury, how quickly Dani was growing accustomed to the weight and heat and urgency of Grace’s movements. Rawness, the lean power and deliberate control behind everything Grace did, and yet how _tender_ she’d been with Dani this whole time – never any doubt that Grace would never, ever hurt her. Such restraint.

That’s also the word. Restraint. Because for as much as Grace has been holding her – close, or back, or carefully – she's also been withdrawn. Guarded, even in her generosity. Speculating about the meaning behind that hadn’t really occurred to her. There hasn’t been time. Yet with what they’ve been talking about, in the minutes since they left the army base behind them, since they saw the EMPs and Carl calculated their chances… Dani’s realized that some part of her has been wondering why. Why Grace has been acting this way. 

Here’s the answer.

“You knew me?”

And Grace is nodding, already, even before Dani asks another question.

“In the future?”

Grace’s arms are braced behind her, holding her up against a console of instruments as the plane hums around and under them. Behind them, Sarah is unreadable – watching, the way she has every time she and Grace have touched one another. But Dani only just notices this, files it away. Heart in throat. Grace looks up at her. Meets her gaze, impossibly warm, heartrendingly soft.

“Yeah.”

The shadow of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Through the words she says next, Dani realizes the nature of what Grace has been showing her. 

“I _know_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank all the gif-makers who have been poring over the footage from the digital releases of this movie with a fine-tooth comb, giving us all the hi-res slow-motion lingering images that our hearts could possibly desire. Wow. This movie really is something and they can't keep their hands off each other. 
> 
> A note: yesterday (Jan 20) I noticed a continuity error between what I said in Chapter 1 and what I posted in Chapter 4. Since I stumbled once more into a chronological story, even though this one relies on vignettes, I went back and edited Chapter 4 so that the timeline I established was consistent. The edits are minor but present!
> 
> One more to wrap all of this up!!


	6. Languages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fragments and voices left behind or staying with you.  
> Shared, spoken, unspoken, written.

**2042**

Well.

Here she is.

After a time, Dani resurfaces.

It’s not that there’s a particular moment which does it – no grand epiphany, no decision that she’s conscious of making. Just a morning where she rubs at her eyes while waking and thinks, “Today’s as good a day as any.”

Reintegrating, this time, is even harder than when she was merely injured.

People look startled, concerned after her in new ways. Should she join them in their worry, with how easy it is to slip back into a routine?

All day, Dani is on auto-pilot. In her wake, she hears whispers. Out of the corner of her eye, she keeps startling at blonde hair, anyone taller than a certain height, another soldier with a gait that reads _Grace_ – Dani keeps expecting to turn a corner and see her. Some ghostly trail of her passing. A sign, a signal. But this is days or weeks after they got the energy signature reading. And Dani’s been left behind.

To get that thought to shut up, Dani checks off her tasks one by one. Her executive officer Juan has handled a surprising number of them in her absence, and is able to let her know which ones are most pressing. So she consults with the representatives tracking reserve stores of general supplies, food stuffs, ammunition, and comfort items. Together she and Juan determine which barracks are in need of inspections, and they schedule those for a week from now with the officers in charge of each. Dutifully, Dani eats. Each swallow is a reminder that she has a body, and that body needs fuel.

Dani attends physiotherapy for a portion of the afternoon, and mercifully, no one comments on how many appointments she may have missed. Next she goes to the barber and has him buzz half of her hair off, on the side where she still has vision – the texture of her shorn scalp is unfamiliar to her, as is the lightness. She looks at herself in the mirror and is surprised at how defined it makes her cheekbones look, the sudden sharpness the cut lends to her appearance. She can sweep the remainder of her hair to cascade down, partially conceal the patch they’ve fashioned her. 

Back in the meeting room, she indulges in a cup of coffee so hot it almost scalds the roof of her mouth The last of her ration of it. There is a knock at the door: the candidates who might serve in her stead if the moment demands it. The process was put into overdrive, when she had been injured; on hiatus, with Corporal Harper’s departure. Yet she’s been told that each of them continued receiving debriefings, backgrounders from each of the lieutenants or captains in charge of various divisions of the Resistance base. That collectively, they’ve met to discuss and propose solutions to the issues they uncover. That’s good. More appropriate than any of them realize.

She has their profiles in front of her, as they all file in; last through, Juan closes the door and sits nearby. Dani sits among them once they’re convened and addresses them. To her own ear, she sounds warm enough. Once some pleasantries are through with and they each have a chance to report what they’ve accomplished, Dani folds her hands in front of her. They all lean in, slightly; the mood shifts to one of careful focus. 

“You come from different places,” she begins, looking them each in the eye in turn. “You have commendable skills, bravery, kindness, and intellect. I am…”

And she steadies herself with a breath. “I am getting older. The war drags on. Even with our successes – even believing that we will soon achieve a victory, one that may cascade into more – we need to be ready for what comes next. Rebuilding. Reaching out to find other survivors, in other parts of the world. I likely won’t see the end of that. Maybe not even the beginning.”

Her XO is watching her closely, at that. Perhaps looking for subtext.

“I have been your commander,” Dani continues, steadily meeting Juan’s probing gaze. “One person. But I know many of you are wondering why I haven’t named a successor. That’s because I want to teach you how to lead together. No single person will take my place when I am gone. The tasks you’ve been assigned so far have hopefully proven the necessity of such an arrangement. You’ve all been chosen, by the ones who love you and know you best. This is how I will honour their belief, and you. Is that enough?”

Not a word of dissent or confusion; a few nods. One of the candidates looks about to cry. Dani smiles as she reaches out to squeeze that woman’s hand.

“Good. We’ll begin that training formally tomorrow. I’d like to discuss each of your strengths with each other. You’ll need to build off of one another, fill in when the others struggle. You each need to know what you can contribute.”

In early evening, Dani intends to consolidate and analyze her notes. Yet as she sits at her desk, with a reluctantly taken dinner that Juan had pressed into her hands before returning to his own quarters, Dani feels unable to move.

“The least you can do is get things out for tomorrow,” she mutters to herself, and after another long pause Dani wrenches the drawer open on her desk, so hard it collides with her shin.

She hisses, curses violently – and without looking, reaches in to take out her notebooks.

Her fingers brush against something with an unfamiliar texture.

Dani freezes.

Her fingers trace the outline – it feels like paper, a packet, and she draws herself closer to peer into the drawer.

A manila envelope – one of the kinds that she might have seen in the office of her boss at the automotive plant, decades and lifetimes ago. This one has been scrawled over so many times, names recorded on each available space. Scrawled upon until the once-golden paper is dingy with writing, almost worn through from pen-impressions. Even so, her name is legible in thick ink. It is heavy in her hand – several small objects or cartridges inside. It takes a few attempts for Dani to unwind the envelope’s thread closure, once she gets up the nerve to do so – her hands are shaking badly.

There is a letter: half a sheet of it, torn from some manual or textbook from the archives in the university they built the base around. Aside from that, there are half a dozen cassette tapes.

Slipping herself to the floor, Dani unfolds the letter.

When she’s read it, she doubles over, and cries until she's scoured clean.

\--

**2020**

“…you _are_ the future.”

The plane is a humming behemoth. Grace can feel Dani’s heartbeat, under her fingertips where they rest lightly at Dani’s wrist. Grace hears something on the radio; beside her, Sarah whispers to Carl, who pushes past Grace and Dani and goes to sit at the controls. Grace hardly notices.

“...And you?” Dani asks. Grace shrugs, thumb running over the back of Dani’s fingers. From this vantage point, Grace kneeling before her – _be not afraid –_ Dani can likely see every abrasion, every scar across Grace’s shoulders and running down her arms. Grace has been careful to speak about herself as someone unmoored from _having_ a future. And even now, she can’t bring herself to lie to Dani. Silence is safer. 

Cautiously, in Spanish, Dani speaks. 

“ _I want to ask you something: would the Dani you know so well accept your martyrdom? Or would she want you to survive this?”_

If Grace couldn’t see the readouts monitoring her vitals, she’d swear her heart stops.

“… _and what would you want_?” She whispers, knowing that by answering back in the same language, she’s confirming something for Dani. Aware that answering doesn’t mean she can make any guarantees.

“ _I’d want you to live,_ ” she says, without hesitation. She takes Grace’s hand between her own, runs a thumb over the back of it. " _I want the_ _chance to_ get _to know you.”_

“ _I don’t mean to interrupt,_ ” Sarah interjects, brusque but still shockingly gentle, for her. Nevertheless, Grace tenses, instantly. Sarah switches to English, and says, “we may have an escort, but we also have company. Coming in fast. Minutes before he’s on us.”

“Fuck–!” Grace stands from kneeling and pushes herself to loom over Sarah’s shoulders, instantly wild with fury. They should have gotten more time – Grace frantically sweeps one hand against her forearm to load a terrain map, simultaneously pressing her other palm against the plane’s navigation panel. Below them, wide desert; scrubland, a series of ranches, Grace flicks through satellite images at the speed of her mind. A wide thunderous river, at a hydroelectric dam – still several hundred miles out, but they might be over it in time to evacuate. Further ahead, a set of small towns and heavy industry: a refinery, a metal works, a chemical plant, all drawing from the lake that eventually powers the dam…

“Okay.” Dani says behind her, a little frantic, probably stuck. “Okay…”

Think. That’s what she’s _good_ for, here and now, optimized in this past which is far less deadly than the future she came from. She was made for this, invested in for this, and they’ve got seconds to make a decision.

“I will go and ready the cargo bay,” Carl says, and Grace realizes he’s planning already to fight. Her heart rate ratchets up another notch, and alerts start popping into her field of vision.

“Anything?” Sarah prompts, interrupting again, and Grace realizes that she’s been watched. “Do we have any options?”

“Maybe the dam, with the generators there, but… it’s already right underneath us, I don’t _know_ –”

“What do you mean you don’t know!?”

“I mean while I’m figuring out our strategy, you needed to start bringing this plane down, thirty seconds ago, which you would have _noticed_ if you hadn’t been so focused on–”

“ _Fine,_ ” Sarah snaps, and even Grace feels her stomach lurch as Sarah tips the nose down, too quickly. Grace ploughs forward, nudges Sarah to one side.

“Let me!” she grits out in frustration. Sarah flings her hands up and shoves herself out of the seat, letting Grace ease their incline. A crackle, over the radio, ending with “– _what’s going on, acknowledge?”_

“Incoming, suspected hostile party, check the rear,” Grace replies tersely, and watches the two fighter jets near them peel away and to the back instantaneously. Shouted declarations over the airwaves for the aircraft behind them to identify itself, before one of the pilots yells for the other to evade. Seconds later, not through the radios, and she detects the pop of gunfire.

“ _Sarah,_ ” Dani interjects, and Grace feels her hand come down on her shoulder, steadying herself against Grace’s body.

“What?”

“Of course. I’m so sorry. We’ve been going about this all wrong, haven’t we?” Grace can hear the driving urgency in Dani’s voice, and it thrills her – so achingly familiar. “You _stopped Judgment Day_ , and we never bothered to ask! How did you win, the last time?”

“I… we _melted_ every trace of the things, and Skynet was never developed…”

“ _How?”_

“A steelworks, but…”

They hear Carl from the back. “Interesting – molten metal would certainly be enough to destroy a model of my type. There is no way to tell whether the newer versions have been fortified in some way that we cannot expect, so I cannot accurately predict a success rate if this is our course of action. Not without additional data.”

“But?” Dani says. “If _you_ were the opponent, what would our chances be in such an environment?”

A beat, before Carl replies. “At least 68.4%. The Jeep is equipped with parachutes. I will prepare it for deployment when we are close enough.”

“Grace–”

But after an apologetic nod in Sarah’s direction – one Sarah had returned – Grace has already been filtering back through the results she saw, narrowing in on the towns in the distance. “There’s a steel plant about 30 miles north-northeast–”

An explosion, far off and behind them; a strangled, cut-off shriek through the comms for an instant, before they hear the other fighter pilot swearing profusely over the line. “ _He fucking knocked Tom out of the sky! We got hits on one of his engines, but he’s still gaini-”_

A second explosion. Grace stares at Dani, looks back out the front of the plane. Even in the dark she can see a glittering expanse of water, rearing up towards them; her ears are popping even though she’s eased back on the throttle, and she sees Dani’s jaw working to try and get some relief, Sarah’s eyes shut tight with pain as they continue their descent. A compartment opens, and oxygen masks plummet towards them.

“Will we make it?” Dani yells.

Grace returns her attention to the altimeter – nearly dropped already to 12,000 feet, and still plummeting – and pulls one of the masks towards Dani for her to take a breath from. Sarah’s already got her own installed in place; though she’s taking it off to allow movement, an advance towards the back of the plane. If they want to reach the drop-point she's just plotted out, Grace realizes, she can’t reduce the speed anymore for now, and that means cabin pressure will be an issue. At least, until they rip the cargo door back open. Then it may be the least of their concerns. 

“ _We’re going to try,_ ” she replies grimly, in Spanish, and leans in, flicking the auto-pilot back on before pitching out of her seat. Beneath and in front of them, a glittering expanse of lights visible through towering clouds of steam, a bright line of buildings cut off by a dark shoreline, coming up fast. If Grace believed in such things, she'd swear she feels the world around her shifting in its alignment, the way she did when she was a teenager and saw Dani stepping up into view to save her– wonders if this has ever happened before, and if not, what it means.

\-- 

**2042**

_Dani,_

_I’m not good with words the way you are._

_I know I’m going back to see you, but this feels like losing you twice – because I’m leaving you here, because you won’t know who I am._

_But I hope that somehow we’ll reach each other anyways._

_You told me that sending me back meant we had another chance at this. We can’t say how many we’ve gotten by now, but if that’s true then I’m grateful for every single one. In every life, we’ve had each other. So maybe I’m not losing you at all. You’re more than a mission to me. And more than a commander. I don’t want to call you my purpose, even though you’ve given me one, and I don’t want to call you my fate, because we keep choosing this, and that’s not passive._

_I think the only way I can think to put it is that I am yours._

_Now and always and in any time._

_Grace_

\--

Former Commander Daniela Ramos holds Grace’s letter, folded in a pocket next to her heart. An intangible anchor. Insurance against her darker impulses – and those do come. 

Each night, Dani listens to at least part of a tape. There are several hours of the recordings – Grace, reading to her from books they’d used to teach Grace the Spanish language, mainly poetry. Some of them are confessional. One features Grace, carefully reciting a litany of the things she loves best about Dani, what she hopes for her. Dani continues to try living up to those things. 

_You are never alone,_ Grace’s voice tells her.

One day, after a successful mission by the Resistance, there are no counter-attacks.

A few after that, a wedge team that punctured into a known Legion stronghold returns – the first to do so. They confirm that Legion’s comms system is disintegrating. The servers are burning themselves out. After that, other teams – some including Augments – venture out and come back with stories of darkened warehouses and re-purposed factories, countless machine bodies half in-production or fully completed, all dark and silent and cold. What units are encountered seem uncoordinated, laughably easy to dispatch. For the first time since Judgment Day, the skies are totally quiet.

By now Dani’s crow’s feet have deepened into wrinkles carved into her skin; even in her fifties her hair is shot almost completely through with silver, and she’s begun to need a cane. She secures her hair, piled on top of her head, with a pin topped by a metal rose. Even tarnished as it’s become by time, it’s still beautiful. With the gradual release of her duties she’s had time to get involved elsewhere, after consulting on tactical decisions.

On the day when the Commanders declare the war is over, Dani carefully does her hair, slipping the hairpin into place where the braid meets the curve of her skull. Laboriously, she climbs to the highest levels of the parking garage where she and Grace used to go. In the open air, she stands, staring into the horizon with her single good eye. Though she waits for something to strike her out of the sky, it never comes.

After that, she comes up more and more. Sometimes, she rages and spars with nothing until she can barely drag herself home. Other times, she brings the tapes and a small player and listens to Grace, reading or speaking her into serenity.

Some months later, a group of emissaries arrives, claiming to hail from a human settlement in the former Great Plains. They’d begun their pilgrimage as signs of heavy metal poisoning began to make themselves known, in the ones who had lived in the area the longest. Not everyone who'd travelled with them made it, but none died because of a machine attack. They are welcomed, offered treatment, with something the Resistance dares to recognize as hope.

Sometimes, when this Dani goes inward, she envisions what might be: Grace, returning, striding tall and sure through the rubble of this world, with the dawn a beacon behind her and a smile on her face like the sun. Her avenger, her love. Somehow, someday, Dani hopes she’ll get the chance to welcome Grace home.

Or in another timeline, somewhere, Dani pictures three figures, not two, watching over a younger Grace as she plays. Sarah tossing Dani the keys as they all pile into a vehicle together, driving away with stockpiles of medication packed in the trunk along with their weapons. And if the end still comes, when this alternate version of Dani stares into a sky blooming explosions, she’ll reach out a hand. Her Grace, alive, will be there to take it. 

* * *

Your heart is beating, isn’t it?  
You’re not in chains, are you?

There is nothing more pathetic than caution  
when headlong might save a life,  
even, possibly, your own.

\- Mary Oliver, “ _Moments_ ” 

* * *

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I do not exist, nor you,  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

\- Pablo Neruda, _Sonnet XVII (I do not love you)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I struggled with as an author in this one was how to tell a story that still contains a level of uncertainty - gaps that would need to be filled. I'm trying to work on having a level of suggestion in my work, rather than outright confirmation. I also realize that by focusing on future!Dani I may have pushed things deeper into angsty territory, but I couldn't stop thinking about her - how to maybe give her something to hold onto in the midst of all she'd be going through.  
> With that said: I do think the vision that future!Dani has at the end, of her younger self and Grace and Sarah getting into a car together is something that actually happened, in this version of 2020. So while it's not explicitly stated in the story: the Grace in this story _absolutely_ lives, because the Grace from this version of 2042 is the one who gets sent back to 2020. 
> 
> I think they'd have a better chance if they'd not ended up at the hydroelectric dam, and instead had a place to fight that might have given them different advantages (I owe thanks to tumblr user jbk405 for letting me borrow their idea that a steelworks might have done the trick, same as in T1 and T2). 
> 
> I got pretty emotional, writing this fic, and the comments and reviews that I've received to date have definitely contributed towards that. If this story spoke to you, or resonates in any way, I'm so, so grateful for that. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading.


End file.
